César crossed his arms, observing the workflow of the Butterfly men. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an unusual figure: a young minotaur, but with vibrant green fur and yellowish eyes with goat-like pupils.
It was another one of his sons. The young hybrid was trying, with almost charming clumsiness, to court a Butterfly woman who had just descended from her Mental Steed. César raised an eyebrow; he wasn't surprised. In the village, the demographics were a puzzle: gnomes were too small for most, and the Butterfly women, with their ethereal beauty, had become the desire of many.
'All protagonists who reincarnate seem to only want daughters,' César thought with a bitter grimace. He himself had once been curious to see what a female heir would be like, but reality was different. All of his descendants were male. 'It's the effect of the Fruit,' he concluded. In the novel, the army of the original Pigman Tyrant only ever mentioned sons. The fruit didn't care about family legacy, only about soldiers.
César shook his head, clearing those thoughts. He watched as the Butterfly woman collapsed from exhaustion after maintaining her summon; his son caught her midair before she hit the ground. Without saying a word, César took Maris by the waist and guided her toward the next stop of his inspection.
They arrived at the largest forge in the village. The noise was deafening: the frantic rhythm of hammers striking red-hot Varmetal dictated the pulse of the place.
The gnomes, despite their small stature, wielded hammers three times their weight with astonishing ease, thanks to their technical affinity. But at the center of the forge stood a figure that defied all logic.
She was a gnome, but not an ordinary one. While her kin barely reached a meter in height, she stood imposingly at two meters tall. Her muscles were tense and covered in soot, and every strike of her hammer made the very foundations tremble.
"Brizna," César murmured, watching the beautiful giant gnome as she shaped a piece of heavy armor.
Although there hadn't been any major battles yet, they had long been equipping themselves and improving the army's gear in preparation for whatever might come.
César paused to observe the metal beneath Brizna's hammer.
"How is the production of the new batch going, Brizna?" César asked, raising his voice over the noise of the forge.
The giant woman stopped, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of a soot-stained hand. When she saw César, a fierce smile lit up her face. She set the hammer aside, making the ground tremble, and approached him with the confidence of someone who knew she was indispensable to the empire.
"These heavy armors are the favorites of the Minotaurs and some Pigmen; they're in high demand, tsk..." Brizna commented, as a gnome assistant quickly approached to hand her a cloth to wipe away the sweat.
In the blink of an eye, Brizna's imposing two-meter form began to shrink, returning to her original size. With an agile leap, she threw herself toward César, who caught her midair and held her as if she were a small child.
"You know, our children grow faster than normal gnomes," Brizna said with a longing expression, snuggling into César's arms. "In a few days they'll already be big enough to start in the forge. I can't wait to teach them everything I know."
"Yes, yes… you'll be an excellent teacher," César replied, patting her back with a mix of affection and resignation, like someone soothing an impatient child.
"How are the 'alchemy furnaces' coming along? Are the next batches ready?" César asked. Although he called them alchemy furnaces, they were nothing more than simple pots.
"Mmm… it's easy. I've already made several dozen," Brizna answered, humming against César's chest without letting go of his neck. "I also prepared agricultural equipment to make planting those medicinal herbs easier… and that stinky crop you use to tame those green pigs."
César nodded, satisfied with the technical report. However, he felt an unusual dampness on his neck. Looking down, he saw Brizna slightly drooling, her gaze unfocused. He raised an eyebrow in question.
"Darling… can we eat one?" Brizna whispered, her cheeks flushed. "It's been a long time since we've had pork, and they've been breeding quite a lot."
Maris, watching from the side, couldn't help but cover her mouth to hide a small laugh at the gnome's antics.
"You know we only eat the ones that suffer incurable accidents," César said firmly. "We can't waste transport resources just on a whim."
Brizna pouted, but her eyes gleamed with dangerous cunning. Making sure no one else was listening, she leaned in and whispered into César's ear:
"Of course… 'accidents.' We could make some of them have 'accidents,' and then…" She didn't finish the sentence, but swallowed audibly.
César rolled his eyes and lightly flicked her forehead.
"Don't say nonsense. We must set an example. We've already punished several who tried to do the same."
Brizna rubbed her forehead, reluctantly accepting the refusal while still pouting. César and Maris exchanged a look of helplessness.
César, after visiting the forge, proceeded to inspect several areas of the village, accompanied by Maris and Brizna, who had eagerly joined them.
As they walked, César was about to head toward the training grounds. There, his beautiful dark elf and his mother were teaching spellcasting to the apprentices. However, before he could arrive, a goblin came running toward them, panting heavily and drenched in sweat.
César raised an eyebrow, observing him calmly.
"What is it?" he asked in a firm voice.
"Sovereign... we were exploring the nearby mountains, searching for a place where the plant needed for the Air Seed ingredient might grow..."
César slowed his steps slightly. His eyes gleamed with interest.
"So... you found it?" he asked, expectant.
Not only him—Brizna and Maris also focused their attention on the messenger, curious about the answer.
"Yes, my lord..." the young goblin replied quickly.
César was about to praise him, but the goblin continued, causing the atmosphere to shift.
"But, my lord... near the area, we encountered a group of strange beings that could fly. According to a minotaur, this race is called harpies."
César did not respond immediately, but his expression turned more serious.
'A flying race...' he thought.
He knew that, by themselves, harpies were not particularly powerful. However, even in the future, they still existed. The reason was simple: the absolute advantage they possessed.
Flight.
Something that, in this world, could not be easily achieved. Only at advanced stages of power, or through rare magical items or special mounts.
César crossed his arms, quickly evaluating the situation.
'This is not just a problem... it's an opportunity.'
If he managed to subjugate that race, he would gain an enormous strategic advantage. Aerial scouting, transport, surprise attacks... everything would change.
"Good. Call the scouts... and my dear father," César ordered decisively.
He had to deal with this.
Not only because of the ingredient needed for the Air Seed, but because a unique opportunity had appeared before him.
'If I can bring that race under my command... many things will become much easier.'